


Day 1: Asphalt

by blackstar



Series: 30 day writing challenge [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, BAMF Stiles, Fluff, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackstar/pseuds/blackstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most important question on Stiles’ mind currently (apart from how long does it take to bleed out from a gunshot wound to the leg) was who had chased him into the debts of the preserve to shoot him, and more importantly – why him of all people, seeing how he was maybe the last non-supernatural creature in this godforsaken town. He huffed a quiet, chocked laugh – maybe someone desperately wanted to turn Beacon Hills into an all-supernatural zone, humans forbidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 1: Asphalt

**Author's Note:**

> I'm starting a 30 day writing challenge, yay! 
> 
> A friend of mine, which is burdened with the task to oversee me doing said challenge, gave me 30 words to use, and the first one is asphalt. 
> 
> I may have gotten a tiiiiny bit sidetracked.

“Fuck!” the colorful yell ringed around the seemingly empty forest around him, as Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, pain shooting from his leg through… basically, through all of his existence. The thing about Stiles, though, was that he didn’t so much stop dead in his tracks, as he fell onto the forest floor with a muted thump and a complementary swear and grunt to the first one. He looked down to see blood gushing out of a wound in his right leg, right above his knee, where the bullet had gone through a few seconds ago. His first thought was that he wouldn’t be able to run anymore, not in this condition. Panic overcame him for a second, but somehow he managed to tamper it down, he needed to think right now. The most important question on Stiles’ mind currently (apart from how long does it take to bleed out from a gunshot wound to the leg) was who had chased him into the debts of the preserve to shoot him, and more importantly – why him of all people, seeing how he was maybe the last non-supernatural creature in this godforsaken town. He huffed a quiet, chocked laugh – maybe someone desperately wanted to turn Beacon Hills into an all-supernatural zone, humans forbidden. He wondered if the bullet was wolfsbane-covered and maybe not meant for him at all, if someone made the mistake of taking scrawny old Stiles for one of his friends (or, also possible, enemies). 

Stiles decided it really didn’t matter as he heard yells from where he came from. He could make out a male and a female voice, shouting to each other that they couldn’t find the boy. They weren’t that concerned with being stellar, then. Still, he tried to hoist himself up with the help of a weak-looking tree, his hands spreading blood over the bark, as he swore again. He was so far from making a clean escape, he thought even the most lacking of skills could trace him. His only chance at escape was to be quicker than them, which seemed impossible, as his leg was radiating with pain and putting weight on it felt like taking the shot all over again, in slow-motion. Repeatedly. 

Once he was up, half of his weight on the bloodied tree trunk, Stiles looked around to try and find where he was; all he could say for sure was – he was amongst trees. Many trees in all directions. He could hear the yells of his pursuers getting closer and without giving it much thought, he grabbed a fallen, sicklish-looking branch from the ground next to him, which was long enough to act as an improvised crutch for a bit, and started walking away from the voices. He tried his hardest to concentrate on the voices behind him, instead of the searing, blinding pain that he felt with every step, and managed to differentiate two male and one female voice – so they outnumbered him three to one. Not that he stood much of a chance when he thought there were two of them, not in his condition, but now a heavier weight set on his chest. He struggled to breathe through panic and pain, on the slow way to his demise. 

Stiles stopped abruptly – maybe this was yet another trap: the same way his chasers had managed to manipulate him into thinking Scott needed help in the woods, getting him out into the preserve without anyone knowing where he is; maybe in the same way they were hounding him into the claws of a cage, waiting to close in on him. 

He recognized the black shape a second before the sound came. The screeching of tires on asphalt was deafening even to his human ears, and was what got him out of the panicking fit that was starting in his chest. It was the best sound he’d heard so far in his life – better than Lydia’s laugh, better than his 4 favorite songs together, better than the sound of birds singing on a beautiful spring morning. In a matter of seconds, he saw Derek’s bulky figure come out of his car, from behind a line of trees, which he now processed were framing the road to Beacon Hills. 

Derek’s hands were on him quickly, helping him limp to the Camaro and opening the passenger-side door, without a single word muttered. He didn’t mind, honestly, if that got him out of the preserve with Derek rather than his pursuers. In a matter of seconds, Derek was on his side of the car, grim determination on his face. 

“Stiles, come on.” Derek said through gritted teeth as he was lowering the hand break, almost pulling away from the edge of the preserve and speeding through the curved roads ahead without waiting for Stiles’ door to close shut. The older man threw him a couple of glances when he was not looking back or trying to make a complicated maneuver with his Camaro, checking Stiles’ wound and looking for any others, obviously. He was pale and looked strained from hurrying and effort but otherwise, Stiles was happy to see, the beta was completely whole. 

“Everyone OK?” Stiles asked as he was clutching at his leg, trying to distract himself from the blinding pain. He was starting to notice black spots were appearing in his vision and that bothered him. 

“Except you, you mean?” Derek huffed, his brows furrowed, as they entered the city limits. “Scott got hit pretty badly but the bullet went through him, he’s going to heal okay.” Derek paused, throwing a worried look over his shoulder at something he saw in his rearview mirror. 

“And the others?” Stiles asked, feeling better and worse at the same time with the new knowledge. 

“Only you two were stupid enough to go without calling anyone first.” He glared murderously at Stiles and pressed harder on the gas; they sped through the city towards, Stiles was guessing, the hospital. “I swear, sometimes I think you two have a death wish.” 

Stiles barked out a laugh, even though it was getting harder to keep up, his head feeling light and disconnected from the rest of his body. He could hardly feel the pain in his leg anymore, and he knew that was bad. 

“As if you don’t act like that too.” He slurred. 

“Stiles.” Derek started, turning another corner, going through a shortcut Stiles used as well. It wasn’t a well-known route and he wondered if Derek had a hobby of looking for great escape paths in his spare time. Did he have any spare time? “Stiles.” Derek insisted, his right hand flying up to tap at Stiles’ shoulder weakly, senselessly. “Stiles, keep awake or I’m going to hurt you, I swear.” 

Stiles laughed at that but he couldn’t muster up enough energy to form any words. He suddenly noticed he’d closed his eyes earlier. It was easy to go against Derek’s orders. 

\--- 

The second thing Stiles noticed when he came to, were the many noises of the hospital machines around him. The first, though, was a hand creeping around his neck, in less a sexy and more a murder-y way. It was soft to his skin and he could distinctly feel the manicured shortly cut nails scraping before long fingers wrapped rightly around him. 

In the moment before his breathing was cut off, Stiles took in a deep breath and reached with his right hand under his pillow. His eyes flew open and he saw long brown curls falling around a beautiful face, twisted in the sweetest grin imaginable. If he didn’t physically feel the woman chocking him, he wouldn’t believe such an angelic creature was capable of causing pain to others. But she was and he acted on impulse, pulling the cold, small knife and stabbing at the woman’s arm. 

As she flew back with a surprised yell, he took a deep breath and told himself to keep concentrated for a little while, as this battle was doomed to a short life from before it had even started. The brunette was clutching her right hand with her left, close to her chest, anger quickly replacing her shock. 

“You little monster…” was the only warning Stiles got before she shot forward with her hands outstretched, as if she didn’t feel the pain or didn’t care enough. She looked like a wild animal in attack, a big feral cat with her claws outstretched, a vicious spark in her eyes. Stiles took a deep breath as he felt, as much as he heard, the twin blades sink into her flesh. The strangled yelp she gave out sounded gurgled and she quickly fell to her knees, inches from Stiles. 

Allison looked dangerous behind her, as she pulled her weapons back. 

“Bitch.” She concluded before looking up at Stiles. “OK, Stiles?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Good job! Just, uh.” He scratched his neck awkwardly “I actually did fall asleep, she caught me off-guard.” 

A huff from somewhere behind him signaled Derek’s presence was still there. Strong hands took hold of his shoulders and maneuvered him towards the door, away from the dead body at their feet. 

“I was going to stop her if you hadn’t woken up on time.” 

“I know.” Stiles sighed and he did, he was confident Derek would never let Stiles die, especially not on his watch. The terror he felt was unrelated, something more primal. “She looked like something out of a comic book though. A villain out to get you even at the cost of her own life. Or hand, in this case.”

“Her life, also.” 

Stiles was pushed onto a bed in a different room and he started feeling bad about leaving Allison alone with the dead body. This was the important part of their plan – it was crucial that the psycho-hunter-bitch was killed by a human, not werewolf, if they wanted to not start a war. Still, it felt wrong to leave her all by herself. 

“Stop worrying, you’re wounded.” Stiles laughed at that and looked up at Derek, who for once didn’t look like he was in some kind of pain. He looked vaguely worried but mostly relieved and Stiles could manage to keep his smile on for that alone. 

“Thanks for taking care of me, sour wolf.” He winked as Derek rolled his eyes. 

“Go back to sleep, I like you better that way.” 

“Ooooh, so he likes me.” Stiles cooed, getting his feet up on the bed. He looked around the new room and felt a new wave of gratitude to the many people involved in the plan. He’d thought of it the first time he woke up, when Derek told him he was sure the attackers were from the next town, the girl – a friend of Kate Argent’s from when they were teenagers. And that they were lurking somewhere outside, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Derek and Scott, while talking on the phone, reached the conclusion that the hunters were trying to separate the pack and kill them off one at a time, from weakest to strongest, starting with Stiles, of course. Hitting Scott was luck for them, and the alpha was fine by now, on the lower level of the hospital, ready for any other intruders, while everyone cleaned up and made the necessary calls. 

Derek pulled the white hospital blanket over Stiles without commenting and tucked him in, careful with his wounded leg. The doctors had said he had been lucky (he would have argued, except they told that to his dad, not him directly) and his leg should heal almost completely in 6 months or less. He was given a crutch for the first month or two and a cane until he felt like walking alone and the thought of a 17-year-old him with a cane was, to put it lightly, a very disturbing image for his imagination. “You dig the hero thing or the helpless, hospitalized thing, just so I know which to emphasize on?” he asked Derek jokingly, throwing another wink in there to hint at flirtation. 

Derek didn’t even crack a smile at that, instead looked at him sternly, as if telling him “too soon”. Stiles shrugged in response. A nurse came in to check on him and plug him into the IV feed, and was appalled at the fact that he had gotten up without a crutch. As punishment, Stiles guessed, she decided to give him a bigger dosage, which almost immediately kicked in and made him queasy. The nurse, Sam, left after that, scalding Stiles again for being reckless. 

“I’m going to be here.” Derek said quietly as he settled in a chair near Stiles’ bed. Stiles smiled. 

“That’s so creepy, dude, I won’t even comment on it.” 

“Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, because you like my handsome face more when it’s not connected to my extremely handsome personality, got it.” Stiles giggled, he was feeling light all over, a different lightness than the earlier, blood loss-induced one. Derek huffed, annoyed as Stiles was falling into a deep sleep. 

“The ‘you’ thing.” Derek said a couple of seconds later. 

“Mmmm?” 

“Not the ‘hero’ thing or the ‘helpless’ thing. The ‘you’ thing. Now fall asleep, you asshole.” 

Stiles smiled a wide, goofy grin, failing to open his eyes to look at Derek. The image of the bloodied brunette from earlier was almost completely erased from his mind, as he was trying to imagine the open, smiling face of the werewolf next to his bed. He hoped he remembered all this in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Hope you stick around for the whole thing --- I also hope I stick around for the whole thing myself. :D And I hope I get better at this. 
> 
> Talk to you in the comments? :)


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